


Art Thou Still Alive, Manling?

by Lycaenion, Spiderheart



Series: The Wreckedverse [7]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Ancient Mysteries, Ancient Oaths, Blithely Ignoring Canonical World Building, Cosmology, Deep Dark Secrets, Fallen Angels, Feeding Kink, Intrigue, M/M, Old Magic, Pagan Gods, Seduction, Venom Kink, sex venom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaenion/pseuds/Lycaenion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderheart/pseuds/Spiderheart
Summary: Sir Pentious unwittingly becomes privy to Hell's most terrible secret, and finds himself suddenly a pawn of an ancient game of chess...Oh yeah, and somehow, the actualserpent of Edenis flirting with him via text message.
Relationships: Sir Pentious/The Serpent of Eden
Series: The Wreckedverse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535261
Comments: 15
Kudos: 90





	1. Morning Glories

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Rudyard Kipling story Red Dog:
> 
> _‘I have seen all the dead seasons,’ Kaa said at last, ‘and the great trees and the old elephants, and the rocks that were bare and sharp-pointed ere the moss grew. Art **thou** still alive, Manling?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Pentious types in all capital letters without punctuation beyond the words 'stop' (for periods) 'fullstop' (for the end of a message) and 'query' (for a question mark). This is because he is from the 19th century, and never adapted to modern text communication. I will be putting up a warning whenever text messaging between him comes up, because all capital letters can be distressing to a modern mind. Use your add-ons or other coping tools accordingly.

There were vines all over the wall, creeping over the top and reaching for the trees, strangling what little light Lord Sinuous could give them. Morning glories, blue and beautiful, burst open their flowers every dawn, even as they strangled whatever their creepers touched. He was sorely tempted to throw poison over the wall, but it would be construed as an act of war, and the vines would likely become more aggressive.

He knew _exactly_ who was responsible, and the infuriating thing was that, with the king gone (and, Sin thought mutinously, completely uninterested in kingcraft) there was no way for Sin to do anything about it. He tore up the creepers, had his imps hack them back; but they grew back almost faster than before, and Sin was forced to take drastic measures.

But, first, he would see if his inventor could make anything…

**LS:** My dear Sir Pentious, I have a certain problem that your clever machines might solve.

**LS:** There have been vines growing from the other side of the wall, I need some way to get rid of them that does not involve touching the ground on the other side of the wall.

**SP:** DANGER OF GROUND QUERY HAVE SEEN YOU OUTSIDE OF GARDEN EXAMPLE YESTERDAY FULLSTOP

**LS:** Deeper in the garden, dear boy. The wall must not be breached in certain areas.

**SP:** REPEAT DANGER OF GROUND QUERY FULLSTOP

**LS:** That’s classified information I’m afraid.

**SP:** CANNOT PROVIDE BEST ANSWER W SO LITTLE INFORMATION STOP THOUGHT OUR ASSN MEANT SHARING MORE FULLSTOP

**LS:** It is discernible why with a little philosophical thought to the nature of the afterlife, and an open mind. That is all I can say.

**LS:** Well, and: It’s /politics/

**SP:** OPEN MIND AND POLITICS INCOMPATIBLE FULLSTOP

**SP:** SUGGEST ROTATING SAW BLADES FULLSTOP

**LS:** At the top of the wall? Can you make those?

**SP:** WHY SUGGEST WHAT CANNOT MAKE FULLSTOP

**LS:** Of course, darling. Come when you’re ready to measure, and I will take you to the part of the wall that needs them.

**LS:** I can compensate you with money, or, if you’d rather, the bounty of my gardens. I grow more than narcotics.

**SP:** DARLING QUERY FULLSTOP

**LS:** Oh, does it conjure bad memories? Would you prefer ‘my dear’?

**SP:** WHY HAVE PRFRD ENDEARMENT QUERY FULLSTOP

**LS:** Ah, I see. Why shouldn’t I, precious?

**SP:** UNCLEAR ON NATURE OF RELATIONSHIP FULLSTOP

**LS:** What would you like it to be, my dear?

**SP:** ANSWER DPNDNT ON YOUR DESIRES BEYOND VINE PROBLEM FULLSTOP

**LS:** And what do you desire?

**SP: **FEAR AND ACCLAIM FULLSTOP

**LS:** From me? I fear no one, precious

**SP:** SPEAKING GENERALLY STOP UNSURE WHAT IF ANYTHING CAN DESIRE FROM YOU FULLSTOP

**LS: **Well, speaking for myself, I should very much adore fucking you, my dear boy.

**SP:** QUERY FULLSTOP

**LS: **If you don’t want to, just say the word and I shall never mention it again.

**SP:** DID NOT SAY DID NOT WANT TO STOP TKN ABACK STOP NOT XPCTNG PROPOSITION FULLSTOP

**LS:** Well then. Perhaps, after your work on my wall, I can invite you inside for some champagne. I find that champagne doux is the best wine to pair with sexual pleasure.

**SP:** WOULD PREFER SELECTION OF WINES TO DETERMINE FOR SELF FULLSTOP

**LS:** Greedy darling. But of course you may. Do you like cake?

**SP:** PREFER ECLAIRS PROFITEROLES ETC STOP BITING INTO FILLING VERY SATISFYING FULLSTOP

**LS:** Mm, yes, I do love sucking the cream out of something….

**SP:** NOT INTENDED MEANING STOP BUT INTRIGUED FULLSTOP

**LS: **I suppose you’ll just have to come visit, and I’ll show you.


	2. Horizons

Sir Pentious made his usual grand entrance at the gates of the Garden, having chosen the occasion to debut his newest masterpiece, a many-legged automaton that could scale walls. He had nothing but disdain for anything so pedestrian (metaphorically speaking) as horseless carriages, and this “mech,” as he’d heard the younger demons call it, had the added benefit of helping solve Lord Sinuous’ problem, since it could extrude cutting blades at the push of a button.

A great number of things Sir Pentious had made possessed this ability, as it happened, but this was the only one currently in working order. (The fact that this was its first-ever outing was, although Sir Pentious would deny it, related.)

He knew he hadn’t been invited over _just _to get rid of the vines, but it had been unthinkable to arrive in a fashion that suggested other activities had eclipsed vine-ridding. To be perfectly honest he had not the slightest clue what order Lord Sinuous intended things to go in, but it seemed rude to presume. There was always the chance the Serpent of Eden had been speaking of separate occasions.

After all, it seemed odd, even by Hell’s standards, to invite someone round for cakes, sex, _and_ horticultural assistance.

Lord Sinuous was waiting, and his staff had been informed the instant the thing could be seen coming toward them. So, rarely for the Gardens, Sir Pentious was given no resistance as his automaton scaled the wall, and found Lord Sinuous waiting in the greenest space in Hell. It was, in point of fact, the _only_ green space in Hell, as well as the only place with true sunshine. It was usually forbidden for anyone to leave the Gardens, once they came inside; but Lord Sinuous had needed to make exception, this time.

‘My dear inventor,’ he said, with a wide and warm smile, ‘welcome to my humble little bit of earthh.’

Humble was an understatement—all around were trees bursting forth with fruit, fields of berries, flowers, and wheat rolling away in the distance, the fluttering of butterflies and bees about their work, and the fresh, green, sweet smells of growing things. It was stunning, and made one realise that Lord Sinuous was not merely a man about town, imposing and polite—he had his own territory, always had, hidden behind the graffiti-covered walls that marked half of the pentagram’s borders.

A ramp unfolded from a hatch in the automaton’s belly, and Sir Pentious slithered down it, wanting to make his greeting in person, and too fascinated by his lush surroundings to remain aloof. The eye on his hat was practically revolving. ‘I hope I can be of asssisstance,’ he said, the word breaking off into a true hiss as one of his minions tried to scamper down the walkway after him. ‘I sssaid _stay in there!’_ Ahem. It’ss hard to imagine anything encroaching here that you didn’t wissh for, my lord.’

Lord Sinuous huffed the faint suggestion of a fond laugh. ‘Is it,’ he said, somewhat ruefully. ‘Well, it shhouldn’t be. Come, I’ll shhow you…’

Sir Pen had, as he had mentioned, a Classical Education. Surely he could connect dots, clever boy like him… Lord Sinuous would _tell _him, but more than his King had sworn him to secrecy, and he knew how curses worked. Yet still, he hinted. Insinuated. Alluded.

He led Sir Pentious through the orchard, through the oranges and their pert scent, through the peaches, hanging juicy and tempting, through the lemon trees and the date palms, and finally, to the figs, by the back wall, in the oldest section of the garden, where morning glory vines grew so fast one could watch them at it, hear the snapping and straining as they reached, like some tentacled beast, for the branches of the figs. The imps were furiously pulling and cutting at the creepers, but they could barely take a breath before the vines were back. Lord Sinuous watched grimly.

‘They’re going to ssspread,’ he said, knowing it to be true. Knowing what this was, but reluctant to call it by a name that would be cause for alarm. The King was gone, there couldn’t be… _that._ Not _now._ This was merely… personal, that was all.

Sir Pen reached to prod curiously at one of the vines, and recoiled as it slowly and deliberately turned a flower towards him. ‘Perhaps we need ssomething that can reach down and pull them up by the rootss…’

Like most gentlemen of his time, Sir Pentious had been an amateur naturalist; although his true passion had been with machines, he knew enough to understand that cutting them back would not make them wither away—not at this rate. ‘Thiss is a recent development?’

It seemed to him that Lord Sinuous must be very proud, though with good reason, and he wasn’t sure how long it might have taken for the Serpent to acknowledge there was a problem.

‘Very reccent,’ Lord Sinuous said, still glaring poisonously at the flowers, which looked unmistakably smug. ‘And we, unfortunately, cannot pull anything. I consssidered sssetting them alight, but I wasn’t sssure of the resssult. _Enforccing _the _border _will have to do, ineffective as it isss.’ He said this rather viciously, as he tore a flower apart petal by petal, seeming to delight in it rather like a torturer delighted in causing agony to his victims. But it was a _flower_, of course, it couldn’t feel pain…. could it?

The border? But if that wall was the border, then… what was beyond it?

Sir Pentious confined himself, for the moment, to questions he felt better equipped to answer. ‘Maybe a permanent installation of blades?’ Perpetual motion had always fascinated him, although he hadn’t ever been able to come up with anything better than having a minion always on hand. ‘Or!’ He brightened, flaring his hood. ‘Why not mount some kind of retaliatory attack? I’m ssure I could create something to mount on the wall…’

‘Gratifying as that would be, I could not do ssso without the King’s permissssion,’ Lord Sinuous said, and resentment coated every word. ‘A permanent inssstallation is all I have the authhority to do. Ssscrap, Ecthhorpe!’

Two imps came over, panting slightly, shears in their hands. ‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Give Sssir Pentiousss whatever aid he needsss in inssstalling bladesss along the rim of the curtain wall.’

They bowed to him, and then turned to Sir Pentious. ‘What do you need?’ one asked, as the other took the shears from him and scurried off to hand them off to two more imps, who took their places hacking at the vines.

Lord Sinuous hoped what he’d said piqued Sir Pentious’ curiosity enough for him to mull over it. He touched the sinner gently on one shoulder. ‘Whatever you need, they will get you. I mussst sssee to the harvessst, I will be back shhortly.’

‘I need to retrieve sssome thingsss,’ Sir Pentious said, his hiss becoming more pronounced, as it always did when he was being evasive. He was telling the truth, or at least part of it, but he was too caught up in a sudden whirl of ideas to remember to make it convincing. ‘Exssscusse me—’

And he took off at quite a clip back to the automaton, almost falling off the narrow ramp in his haste to ascend. There was a moment’s pause, accompanied by some clanking noises, and then the whole thing shuddered back to life and scuttled away into the garden, making for the fig trees.

His voice floated, tinny, to the imps. ‘Just getting a better vantage point!’

Ecthorpe and Scrap watched him climb up the wall.

‘You think the Boss knows he—’

‘Ayup,’ Scrap said, chewing his stalk of grass.

‘But he’ll see the forbidden!’

‘Spect so,’ Scrap said.

‘But it’s—it’s forbidden?’

‘You know who you work for, youngin?’

‘What! Of course I—oh. Oh.’ Indignance turned to realisation turned to a curling and impish grin that slitted his yellow eyes and made him dance excitedly back and forth as he watched Sir Pentious give in to temptation as immediately.

As humans _always_ did.

.oOo.

The automaton scaled the wall with ease, but did not balance terribly well at the top, having to stay in motion to avoid falling off one side or the other. Sir Pentious was thus robbed of a true opportunity to stop and stare, having to piece together what he saw from a series of rushed, unsteady glimpses. It must not have been enough, because the picture this created didn’t make sense.

He had known Hell was finite, because otherwise there would be no struggles to claim territory and no need for purges, but had he ever really _believed_ it? He was not a cynic by nature, but it was not hard to imagine that the damned would gladly fill their eternities with violence if given the option, and that the angels simply liked killing demons to demonstrate their power.

What he had not considered was what might actually lie beyond.

What he saw was a dark landscape, lit by an eerie blue canopy of light from high above, that almost did not look anything like stars, and made sharp shadows on the fields of ghostly, alien flowers, where ghostly, alien beings, that almost did not look anything like horses, grazed. Somewhere away to the north, he could just barely see where the field ended, and golden dunes of a desert began.

It looked infinite. It looked far bigger than Hell. It looked completely unpopulated, and one wondered why the wall was there, why Hell hadn’t _expanded._ One felt, looking at how the wall curved, that Hell was very small, indeed. And not only because one could walk across it in a morning.

Even though he kept making narrow circuits of the top of the wall, the vines had started to climb the legs of the automaton, seeking to entangle it. Sir Pentious put its blades to the test, forgetting these revelations for the moment in the sheer ferocious joy of seeing how one of his inventions fared in the field.

If this worked, he could use the spare blades he kept here to start the barrier (which was, of course, why he had ostensibly gone back in the first place—Sir Pentious had been terrible at constructing alibis in life, so he had made sure to practice lying over the years). But even as he fought off the vines, he wondered what else might come out of this wilderness. The wall was there for a reason; what was so terrible for demonkind to have necessitated its building?

Before too much longer the morning glory grew wise to his attacks, and fanned out in a pincer movement to continue extending down the far sides, well out of range. Sir Pentious glared at it. He was not accustomed to hostile flora, but he _was_ all too familiar with people deciding he wasn’t worth their time, and being snubbed by a plant seemed like a new low.

The flowers, however, seemed to have been purposely planted at the very base of the wall. It would have been wisest, easiest, to pull them out and salt the earth. Why, then, had Lord Sin forbade it? Why had he said, in such firm words, that doing so was an act that the King had to approve, because—

The Wall was a border. This land wasn’t _empty,_ it _belonged_ to someone. To whom?

_With a little philosophical thought to the nature of the afterlife, and an open mind…._

Who else was there? What punishments existed apart from Hell? Sir Pentious remembered being disappointed, on his arrival, to find that Sisyphus and Tantalus were nowhere in residence; it had often entertained him in idle moments to imagine devices which could circumvent their struggles. He realised he had all but forgotten that, so absorbed had he been in attaining power, in understanding each new wave of technology that washed into Hell as the world of the living changed.

What if they were out _there?_ Could those flowers, perhaps, be the Fields of Asphodel?

All of a sudden, Sir Pentious felt very small, and very uncertain.

A miaow—an incongruously familiar noise in this sea of alien beauty—drew his attention to a cat that was industriously climbing the vines, not at all being disturbed or entangled by them, and finally ending up on the wall, balancing neatly and regarding his machine with some curiosity. It was, like all the cats he’d ever seen down here, a sleek and pointed thing, with black markings around its face like Egyptian—

The desert in the distance suddenly gained new meaning.

The cats.

The cats were _Egyptian_ cats.

The automaton teetered, much like Sir Pentious’ worldview, and he managed to haphazardly guide it into a kind of controlled fall back to the Garden side. It landed on most of its feet, and although his minions shrilled and ran to and fro in dismay, they did that all the time. Sir Pentious had learned to mostly tune it out by now.

Hell was hemmed in by other underworlds. Everything was real, and too vast to comprehend. The feuding that had consumed most of his existence, that he used as fuel and inspiration, seemed petty and insignificant by comparison. If others knew, would they push for expansion, for real war?

What had Lord Sinuous done, or been perceived to have done, to draw the ire of…?

The cat leapt down on top of the automaton, then into one of the trees and down the trunk. The imps paid it little mind; the cats were not unwelcome visitors (they were always _visitors,_ never residents, knowing they had warm hearths and better friends only a little journey away).

Scrap gave Sir Pentious a knowing look, through the window of the automaton. ‘Need anything, sir?’ he asked.

‘What do you even get someone having an existential crisis?’ Ecthorpe muttered under his breath.

‘Whatever they ask for, I ‘spect. Usually tea.’

‘Tea?’ Sir Pentious abruptly came out of his reverie. ‘Is there tea?’

Tea was comforting, tea was familiar, tea was an _institution._ One that came, he realised with a sinking feeling, from India and China, where people believed all kinds of peculiar things that were probably somewhere down here as well. Now that he had stumbled upon it, the truth was inescapable, all-encompassing.

He still wanted tea, though.

Ecthorpe knew, being that he was the younger, it was to him to get the tea. No matter, it meant he could go inside, and not deal with the sinner emerging from his machine, looking lost and hopeful and confused.

‘See anything useful?’ Scrap asked, having seen a fair bit, himself, but lacking any sort of context. No one who saw beyond the Wall left the Garden to tell about it. No one until _now_, Scrap thought.

Sir Pentious twisted his hands, the eye on his hat flicking guiltily from side to side. ‘Oh, er, just figuring out how many insstallations we’ll need…’

Did the imps know? Was he supposed to acknowledge what he’d seen in any way?

‘Great many, I’d reckon. Herself invented green thumbs, and all.’ She was terrifying, in the way that Spring was terrifying. In the way that the vines were terrifying in their intent.

The cat, which had been contemplating jumping on a hard-working imp, swivelled an ear to the conversation, and suddenly, _his _Mother was listening, too.

‘But why _now?_ And why so subtly? Is this just a warning, or a prelude to something more?’ Sir Pentious had never been one to think about consequences, but if he successfully warded off the vines, what would happen next? Lord Sinuous wasn’t trying to _frame_ him, was he?

Scrap gave him a look. ‘Choo askin’ me for? I’m an imp, I don’t get paid to _think.’_

Ecthorpe came back with a proper tea tray, somehow not a single cup rattled despite his running.

The cat came over, quite unafraid of Sir Pentious, which was, though nobody present knew it, quite uncharacteristic of a cat. It demanded attention, as cats do, by hooking a paw over the edge of the tea-tray and pulling downward, threatening to tip it; but imps were very used to the cats, and their ways, and it had been centuries since a cat had ever gotten the better of one.

Still caught up in what he had seen, Sir Pentious paid little mind to the creature, fortifying himself with the tea (which, he was relieved to find, tasted perfectly ordinary, although he’d only remembered to think about it halfway through his first cup) before knocking together a quick prototype of his idea and bringing it back to the wall.

The cat followed, and watched with interest as the blades, given their own small power source, whirred to life, scything in rapid little circles and cutting the vines as fast as they could climb. Showing his minions how to construct more of the devices, Sir Pen soon had them all along the wall, and before long a third imp arrived with word that the inventor was welcome to join Lord Sinuous at his convenience.

For pastries.

Sir Pentious was suddenly very conscious of the weight of his hellphone in his suit pocket, and the conversation recorded therein, which he could pull up and read over again any time he liked. Which he definitely had not already done several times.

It was Hell, and a particularly balmy area at that, but did it have to be so _warm?_


	3. Tea and Pâtisserie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we all know what Lord Sinuous likes to do over tea and pâtisserie....

Lord Sinuous had the pastries baked, and candies made, and food cooked by a trio of the best sinners at the job; peopled his kitchen with the most skilful cooks, and sous chefs, and waitstaff; and yet he still arranged the pastries on the tiered tea tray himself, still steeped the tea himself, still arranged the venue, the menu, the seating—and mere thought made sure every component was the exact right temperature and humidity level: the sugar lumps in the shape of roses just wet enough to hold together; the tea just hot enough to warm all the way down; the cream just cool enough (and no cooler); the cream in the profiteroles and éclairs cold and moist; but the choux pastry the exact right dryness; and the chocolate glaze set exactly right over the top of the later. There was also a tart of dates, pineapple, and spices; a strawberry cake filled with pink champagne buttercream; and petit-fours delicately glazed in green and pink and decorated with gilt, sugared rose petals, and candied violets. The tea itself was fresh and unlike any on Earth—indeed, _all_ of the bounty of Lord Sinuous’ gardens was _better_ than anything on Earth, for it had all been carefully stolen from Eden, from the chickens that laid the eggs for the cake to the seeds for the wheat, tea, and fruit trees.

Lord Sinuous himself was coiled politely, his claws freshly-polished and gleaming in the light from the picture window that offered the most beautiful view of his realm, hiding from view the parts he did not wish to show guests. There were no chairs around the tea-table, as neither host nor guest needed them, and the rug upon the floor was soft, though a silken cushion of comfortable size was on the floor for Lord Sinuous’ guest, as the Fallen was always thoughtful.

Sir Pentious had never been entertained like this before. He had not been entirely without friends when alive, but tended to forget engagements, or find the conversation never measured up to what he had been imagining. His workshop had always beckoned. In Hell, he had won notoriety; but had never expected _company_, and so not looked for it. On the rare occasions he had been invited into another demon’s domain, he had used the opportunity to try and catch them by surprise, which had had variable results. And that wasn’t even touching on his only major alliance to date, the destruction of which he was still smarting from…

The wonderful smells of the tea and delicacies wafted to him the moment he came through the doorway, and he let that overrule his nervousness, drawing him in to settle on the cushion.

‘This looks excellent,’ he said. ‘You’re very gracious.’

‘I am,’ Sin said, the last being in existence to have humility, regardless that the One Above had tried to force it upon him. He lifted the teapot, pouring Sir Pentious a cup. ‘Cream?’ he offered, ‘Sssugar?’

Unlike the sinner, Lord Sinuous always had a hiss beneath his words. It may have had something to do with the fact that he had always been ophidian.*

‘I prefer it plain, to contrast with the pastries,’ Sir Pen said, and then found himself adding shyly, ‘but you could try and tempt me.’

When he had first been made aware of Lord Sinuous, he had been worried that the Serpent might take offence to his form, accusing him of mimicry—which was really that most heinous of crimes, a lack of originality. The truth was, as it was for all sinners, that the essentials of his shape had been drawn from his subconscious, and he had refined it with imagination. While it was possible to change one’s aspect entirely, it was a messy affair, requiring absolute conviction, strict focus, and preferably surroundings that were easy to clean. Sir Pentious had always felt comfortable with his body, or he wouldn’t have named himself as he had. Did Lord Sinuous feel some kind of kinship with him? But… there were other snake demons in Hell, though none of any account came to mind at the moment. It was probably a coincidence, them both being serpentine….

Lord Sinuous’ smile widened, briefly, as he poured Sir Pentious’ tea. His vent was pressed to the cushion, hidden from Sir Pen. It contrasted with when he’d been texting with him, curled up in his den beneath his fortress, gently tracing patterns around his vent between texts, imagining the blushing and noising that went with the replies from the sinner.

‘I cannot tempt thee to that which thou dothh not, in thy sssecret hheart, already desire _fervently,’_ he said in a velvet whisper, pouring cream into his own cup, and using the ornate, delicate silver tongs, shaped like the long and clawed talons of a crow, to take a profiterole carefully off the tray, and place it on Sir Pentious’ dessert plate.

Sir Pentious regarded it. It was the perfect size to be popped whole into his mouth, and he hesitated only a moment before doing just that, making a noise of startled pleasure as the pastry shell burst and yielded its smooth, rich contents. All his eyes rolled upwards.

‘Delicious,’ he said, the words muffled as he forgot propriety entirely. ‘I know what my next few fervent desires are.’

As with the tea, he did belatedly wonder if the treats might be laced with something more than chocolate, but supposed he didn’t really mind, being no stranger to stimulants and from an era where laudanum, heroin, and cocaine were prescribed for everything, besides. He reached hopefully for the tongs.

‘May I?’ he asked.

Lord Sinuous nodded once. ‘Of courssse, my dear,’ he said gently, eating his own pastry in one bite, showing but a flash of his own, far more serpentine mouth, with is delicate-seeming flesh of a pale, bruisy blue-violet. His fangs were nowhere in sight—curious, for a man with such a reputation for venomous bite.

‘Is that what you’ve decided on,’ Sir Pen said, half to himself. He’d tried to think of what he would most like to be called, but even the thought exercise had made him too flustered, as he imagined the _exact _circumstances in which Lord Sinuous would be _saying_ such sweet nothings.

Sir Pentious’ own fangs were fixed in place, and somewhat outsized; but he was, thankfully, immune to his own venom. Did that protect him from Lord Sinuous’, though? A little part of him wanted to find out. He hurriedly took three more profiteroles to squash it.

‘Decccided on?’ Lord Sinuous replied, arching a crested brow.

Lord Sinuous enjoyed watching people, for varying and diverse reasons, squirm beneath his gaze.** He sipped his cup of cream (he had taken no tea) and his coils shifted comfortably—in the visible _and_ non-visible spectrums.

‘Ssso glad you’re enjoying them, precciousss,’ he murmured, softly, and one got the impression his mouth was just by one’s ear, even though it wasn’t.

Sir Pentious wasn’t even properly sure if he _had_ ears anymore, but he shivered nonetheless, curling his tail tight around himself, his hood flattening to his neck. He drank some more tea and nibbled, this time, at a petit-four, willing himself to be calm. ‘Endearmentss,’ he said, trying hard to be nonchalant, as casual and self-assured as Lord Sinuous. ‘As we discussed earlier.’

A soft and silken chuckle, as his host plucked an éclair from the tray with the tongs. It, too, was eaten in one mouthful.

‘You think I choose only the one?’ he asked, careful not to sound too amused, lest he wound the man’s fragile pride (and oh! how fragile was the pride of modern man!).

‘Mmnh,’ Sir Pen said, every eye wide, hypnotised by the éclair just—just _vanishing_. He hadn’t been thinking about the erotic possibilities of his favourite desserts, he honestly hadn’t, he’d never had anyone _at _whom to seductively eat food. His lovers had never hung around for meals.

Lord Sinuous met them with, it must be said, _every_ smile, the dozen that were usually safely tucked away in another plane of existence wisping into shadowy view, all of them smiling so wide that they curled at the ends. He put another cream puff on Sir Pentious’ plate.

‘Have another,’ he whispered, with all of his voices in the audible spectrum, all of them layered and whispering ever so _nicely_….

The eyes along Sir Pentious’ sides watched the smiles warily, but his main eyes did not leave Lord Sinuous’ as he took the cream puff in slightly trembling talons and raised it to his mouth, almost mashing it against his hat (which opened its mouth obligingly) before correcting course.

‘You already have me,’ he said weakly, ‘there’s no need to be so—so _enrapturing.’_

_‘Do_ I have you?’ asked the layers of voice, the awareness of burnt and half-skeletal wings somewhere in the edges of Sir Pentious’ vision. The eyes on the sinner’s body saw shadowy coils reaching for him….

It was rare Lord Sinuous let himself out like this, to a sinner at least; rarer still he had one so low-ranking in his parlour. Sir Pentious, however, _drew_ him, fascinated him, in a way none had. The boy was so wholly entranced, so easily flustered, so utterly _delicious _when plied with the slightest of affection….

Sir Pen felt heat rise to his face; his body remembered doing things like that too strongly to let go of them after less than two hundred years. He kept himself still, tongue flickering nervously. Given that his ordinary reaction to danger was to hole himself up in his latest invention (for although he could recover from anything but angelic weapons, he didn’t _like_ it), he thought he was being very daring.

‘Perhapss not in every ss-sense,’ he managed, after a couple of false starts. ‘But you might.’

The coils of shadow slid around Sir Pentious, but didn’t solidify. Not yet.

_‘Might_ I?’ came that voice, through gently smiling jaws.

Sir Pen’s mouth was still drenched in sweetness as he swallowed hard. ‘If you play your cards right,’ he said, trying out a phrase he’d picked up, and then wondering why he’d thought that would entertain one of the _Fallen_. He’d never been very good at card games anyway, whist was monotonous and he had far too many tells to be good at poker, unless he made outrageous imaginary bluffs, which were hard to keep track of, and his thoughts were scattered all over the place because there were so many _teeth_….

With all of that long neck, Lord Sinuous leaned over the table, and his coils became a little more solid around Sir Pentious’ body, mouths flickering like static in and out of existence, moving each time closer.

‘Oh, _precccioussss_…’ he purred, his blue-black tongue flicking out as fast as nature, ‘I believe I jusssst did.’

Whatever Sir Pen had been going to say—and there definitely had been going to be something, and it was going to be _enticing,_ and _searingly witty_—died in his throat as he felt his cocks start to peek from his vent. He didn’t wear anything over the lower part of his body, it was confining and obstructed the extra vision he’d worked so hard to get accustomed to, and normally he didn’t get into any kind of untoward situation that would result in embarrassment; now, he wished badly that he’d gotten into the habit of covering himself. Damn it all, he’d _promised_ himself he was going to give Lord Sinuous the thrill of the chase, make the Serpent work for it; but that hiss wound itself around him, and with just a fingertip’s worth of pressure from those coils, he could hardly _think…!_

Lord Sinuous was not the sort of hunter that chased anything—no, like all of the creatures he resembled (and a few he didn’t), he was an ambush hunter; but, more than these, he liked his prey to _know_ they were being wrapped up in his coils, to give them a chance to _know_ they weren’t going to run away, to _know_ that they didn’t _want_ to…. His coils solidified ever more, slowly wrapping Sir Pentious tighter….

‘It’sss not fair that you can do that without moving, you know,’ Sir Pentious said, pretending he hadn’t noticed what was going on below his coat. He had learned, at some point, that the king cobra got its name from its penchant for eating other snakes, often quite dangerous themselves—he’d never considered, until now, what those lesser unfortunates must have felt like.

The laugh that answered this protest was, somehow, _more_, lower, something you could feel in the back of your throat, as Lord Sinuous plucked a profiterole from the tray, and held it up to Sir Pentious’ mouth.

‘Have a cream puff, pet.’

Automatically, Sir Pentious reached for it, only to find that he was now wrapped up very tightly, indeed. When had that happened? He’d thought he’d been paying close attention, and that part of Lord Sinuous had been mostly insubstantial a moment ago…

All he could do was lean forward and open his mouth.

Lord Sinuous delicately, almost lovingly placed the pastry in Sir Pentious’ mouth, and gently closed it with a finger placed beneath Sir Pentious’ chin. His hold wasn’t constricting, just enough to keep contact with the sinner all the way around, enough that Sir Pentious’ many beautiful eyes would want to close to avoid being touched.

Sir Pen swallowed, barely remembering to chew, quivering as the eyes along his sides shut. Losing that perspective was almost as imprisoning as being held like this, and it made his breath catch, such that he closed all the rest of his eyes to focus on the sensation of the cream puff—or rather sensations, as it was so complex.

After a moment, he opened his mouth again.

Lord Sinuous caught his lips in a kiss, which seemed, but was not, impossible between two beings such as themselves. Lord Sinuous, because he _wished _to kiss, and Sir Pentious because it never occurred to him that he might have lost the ability to have lips.

It had never been something Sir Pen was particularly skilled at, and it took him by surprise, but he gave it his all, pushing aside any hesitance with the knowledge that Lord Sinuous had not been looking for kissing prowess, but wanted the experience of kissing Sir Pentious especially. Still, he hoped it was worthwhile.

Lord Sinuous had always wanted to put his hands in that hair, to stroke the hood and see what it felt like. He slid his hands along Sir Pentious’ jaw, back down the sides of his neck, and then up the nape…

No one had ever done that to Sir Pen before, and he only just stifled a cry at the sensation, which seemed to have all the force of an electric shock. He pitched forward in Lord Sinuous’ grasp, exposing more of his neck to be touched, his hood flaring out low in a gesture at once declarative and deferent.

‘H-how did you do that?’ he gasped out, trying to push the words past the overwhelming feeling of _surrender,_ that he was Lord Sinuous’ to use and play with—a feeling that, he was discovering, he _liked_.

Lord Sinuous kept stroking, switching over to small kisses that trailed along Sir Pentious’ jaw, down his neck, flicking his tongue teasingly on sensitive grey scales. He wanted his sinner’s mouth free, he wanted to hear the flustered, confused, aroused little comments, in that absolutely delicious, that _shaking_ voice.

Sir Pentious squirmed as much as those coils would allow, which was more than he had expected, and he realised some of the tightness had been the tension in his own body. His cocks were trapped, though, Lord Sinuous having shifted just enough to press against his vent, holding them back from fully emerging. The ache was like nothing Sir Pentious had ever experienced, piercing through him, hollowing him out.

‘You—’ Sir Pentious struggled out, ‘I thought _Proserpine _was the torturer—’

A low chuckle answered him. ‘And what am I doing to torture you, little one?’ he purred, something liquid and strained in his voice—Sir Pentious little knew how entranced by his neck the serpent of Eden currently was, how difficult it was to hold back the urge to bite….

Sir Pen had not thought far enough along to realise that he now had to _say_ it. He didn’t want to be vulgar, but he also didn’t currently have the mental fortitude to work out more delicate phrasing. There was a long pause, in which he uttered several little mewling noises he hadn’t meant to make, until he finally stammered, ‘You’re not letting me… that is to say my…’ He nodded his head down at his midsection, then looked up pleadingly.

‘Yessssssssss?’ the hiss was long, drawn-out, and _hungry_. Lord Sinuous’ eyes, despite their blueness, were the same blue as the open ocean—and just as full of the unknown.

One got the impression that, possibly, one might be _on the menu_.

The eye on Sir Pentious’ hat widened, but rallied to glare first at Lord Sinuous, then down at its owner.

Sir Penious himself took a deep breath, reminded himself that he was brilliant, and cunning, and perfectly capable of speaking plainly about his anatomy even to one of the Fallen, and said, ‘Please let me have my cocks out? It hurts to have them kept in, and you could do whatever you liked with them,’ and _why had he said **that?**_

Those blue eyes widened, and glowed, even as the coils shifted, dragging smooth and sinuous over Sir Pentious’ vent in their movement to free it to the air.

_‘Whatever_ I liked?’ Lord Sinuous said—with every inky mouth.

There was nothing else Sir Pentious could say, in that moment of exquisite relief that changed almost instantly to even more pressing need, but,

_‘Yes.’_

He got a split second to see Lord Sinuous rear back, his mouth flashing as alarmingly alien as any true snake’s, fangs swinging down and suddenly visible, and there was no time to move before he was plunging them into Sir Pentious’ neck, and the swollen venom sacs were being eased into the sinner’s virgin bloodstream.

There wasn’t even time to think, or for Sir Pen to express himself in anything but a scream of pain and pleasure and surprise, and the sound soon tapered off into a moan as the venom filled him. He had been transmuted, he was made of bliss, and he smiled hugely at each and every one of Lord Sinuous’ smiles, his head lolling. The punctures on his neck seemed to throb in time with his cocks, and he let himself be rocked by the steady beat of it. Everything was nice. Everything was so nice, and nothing mattered, his thoughts warm and quiet and full of nothing more than wanting to keep feeling what he was feeling, and delight at having that wish granted.

And maybe Lord Sinuous would fuck him, or play with his cocks. That would be nice too.

Lord Sinuous rearranged them, smiling gently all the while, gently as a crocodile, and slid his body against Sir Pentious’ own, stroked his pretty neck, his hood…

And plucked another cream puff from the tray, touching it gently to Sir Pentious’ lips.

‘Have a cream puff, preccioussss.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *He was, in point of fact, not exactly a snake, as any herpetologist that ended up meeting him would note; he was a wyrm, which had been variously translated into modern English as, among other things, ‘snake’, and the word stuck. However, most modern sinners wondered if anybody else thought of the word ‘dragon’ when seeing Lord Sinuous, or if it was just them. 
> 
> Everyone, thus far, found themselves rather incapable of saying the word ‘dragon’, in his presence.
> 
> **He was, in this way, very like a dragon, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a discord](http://discord.gg/2SRjc83), come say hi! [Lord Sinuous also has a tumblr](http://lord-sinuous-of-tree.tumblr.com)!


End file.
